Miss Adler
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: The events of A Scandal in Belgravia, told from Irene Adler's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Geeze, sorry folks, I don't know what happened to the formatting when I first uploaded this. It's corrected now. Enjoy!**_

* * *

It was happening too quickly, there wasn't time to warn Kate. By the time the Americans had burst into her parlor, there was little to be done but surrender and hope that Mr Holmes lived up to his illustrious reputation. _I would tell you, but I already have. THINK._

In the end, he impressed her. The consulting detective figured out the code for the safe with only a mildly blatant hint or several, and even managed to rescue his darling pet into the bargain. His face when Dr. Watson's head was centimeters from a gun barrel said volumes. They really were an _adorable_ couple, though it was obvious both were in deep, deep denial over it. She stored that tidbit away for future use. Emotional constipation was a delightfully _useful_ handicap in an adversary. This was hardly going to be their last encounter after all, she was going to make sure of that.

Unfortunately, "The Virgin" recovered himself faster than expected and went for the safe instead of swooning over Dr. Watson as she'd hoped. He snatched her precious camera-phone from the safe before she could reach it. Naughty thing that he was, he refused to return it. Such disobedience to a direct order simply couldn't be tolerated. She'd soon see to it he learned: when the mistress gives an order, _she is to be obeyed._

Upstairs, Dr. Watson found poor Kate, unconscious where the intruders had left her. She probably hadn't even seen them coming when they'd bashed her over the head and moved on. Irene let the doctor examine her assistant and planned the next move in the game.

This was hardly the first time Kate had been knocked out cold, and it wouldn't be the last. She was alive and at least this way the poor thing had an alibi. Just a normal maid, in the wrong place at the wrong time. She could easily claim to have known nothing about Irene's… unusual business practices. _"I just work her her, officers. I had no idea!"_ They couldn't charge her with a thing. Anyway, Irene certainly couldn't carry her out the window, naked, wearing a borrowed (and frankly enormous) coat, so it was just as well. Now where _had_ she left that syringe….?

* * *

Mr. Holmes was subdued quickly enough, and she enjoyed his shock and disorientation immensely. She decided to save flogging him with her riding crop for a more convenient time, though now _was_ quite tempting. She really did need to be on her way, alas.

On her way to the window, she passed a very confused Dr. Watson. He wouldn't bother trying to capture or detain her, she was quite sure - not with his beloved detective convulsing alarmingly about on the floor. Mr Holmes wouldn't die of the drug in his system, she was sure of that, but made sure to warn the good doctor not to let him choke to death on his own vomit. No need to take unnecessary risks - Mr. Holmes hadn't outlived his usefulness just yet. Besides, the more alarming she made his condition sound, the less likely she was to be pursued.


	2. Chapter 2

She picked up Kate in a private car, not two blocks from Scotland Yard, a day and a half later. It was white, sleek, and expensive - exactly to Irene's luxurious tastes. The car pulled smoothly up to the sidewalk, and without breaking stride, Kate turned and climbed inside. As quickly as it had appeared, the car vanished into the thick of London traffic again.

"-I just told them I didn't know anything, turned on the waterworks, and they believed me, just like you always said they would! And then they released me and told me they were very sorry for the trouble. They were much kinder than the Russian Police, certainly. No shouting or threats. They even gave me coffee and donuts when I started looking like I might cry again!" Kate finished, laughing. She didn't mind the headache and large lump on the back of her head. She was alive and she'd done well for her mistress. That was what mattered.

As expected, the police had questioned her PA very gently, and released her shortly after. Sherlock Holmes hadn't been present for the questioning, which was just as it should be. He'd been too busy sleeping off the delightful little concoction that Irene had given him, and as she'd calculated, nobody had wanted to wait for him to sober up long enough to interview poor weeping Katherine Townsend - unassuming house maid. He might have realized she was acting had he been present, of course... but it wasn't worth detaining the poor thing until he was fit to question her, they'd said. He'd only be horrid and frighten her like he _always_ does with witnesses, they'd said. She clearly wasn't involved, they'd said.

Besides, Irene had taken precautions to keep Mr Holmes distracted, even when he did resurface. A nighttime visit to plant a little mystery and keep him curious was all she'd really needed. If she'd read him correctly, Sherlock Holmes be quite busy licking his wounds for some time, and wondering about the orgasmic ringtone she'd had left on his phone coupled with the hazy memory of her standing over his bed. That she'd been gauging how long it would take him to come around and deciding if another dose was needed… well, that wasn't really his business. Fortunately, Mr. Holmes had stayed delirious and gone right back to sleep like a good boy when ordered. She did love how well behaved that particular drug made people….

In the end, Scotland Yard had given Kate a phone number to call 'in case she recalled anything useful to the investigation' and that had been that. Sometimes it was almost too easy.

* * *

"I'm very pleased with you, Kate, dear." Irene crooned, neatly manicured hand resting on her assistant's knee. "Mistress is very, _very_ pleased."

She signaled her driver with an imperious wave and at once the small glass window between the front and back-seats slid closed with a quiet thunk, followed by a thick black velvet curtain that slid smoothly into place. The muffled music filtering back to them from car's radio grew a bit louder and they turned off onto the long road that would eventually lead to the safe-house where Irene would be hiding for the next few weeks. She had to let her corpse stand-in be discovered and identified as Irene Adler, and then let her 'death' marinate in Mr. Holmes imagination until he was malleable and desperate to see her again. Sew a little domestic discord, make him believe she was interested, and he'd do anything she asked. But that was work for later. Now it was time for some relaxation.

Alone with the worshipping eyes of her favorite submissive, Irene was in her element. She slowly unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off of her flawless shoulders, taking care to let it trail over her skin as suggestively as possible. When it had collected into a satiny puddle on the seat, it was obvious that she'd worn nothing underneath but her infamous _Battle Dress_ and a pair of six-inch heels. Kate's eyes widened and her breath hitched as she stared. She'd seen Irene nude many times, but the sight never failed to stop her in her tracks.

"Have you been a good girl, my Kate?" She asked, drawing a riding crop out of her purse. Kate drew a shaky breath.

"Yes mistress."

" Have you been obedient? Have you done _everything_ I told you to do?"

"Yes mistress."

"Good, obedient girls deserve to be rewarded... don't you think?"

"Oh, yes mistress. Yes, please."

"Then come closer... and let me reward you…" Irene commanded, her crimson lips nearly touching Kate's ear. Kate shivered as the warm air skimmed over her skin, and did what she always did whenever her mistress gave her an order. She obeyed.


	3. Chapter 3

In retrospect, Irene actually felt a bit sorry for Sherlock Holmes, though really, it was his own damned fault for being so self-absorbed. Wounded pride and hurt feelings were such a cliche in her line of work. Moreover, if he _honestly_ couldn't grasp the sad, jealous, puppy-dog eyes his 'partner' (such a deliciously suggestive term) had been displaying while she toyed with them, there was just no hope for the poor man.

Then again... his imagined romance had saved her life when he'd materialized out of nowhere to rescue her from beheading, so she supposed despite the loss of her 'protection', she'd come out somewhat ahead.

If only to taunt "Mr. Funny Hat", she'd actually been changing the password on her phone each time it came back into her possession, adjusting the 'guess' counter accordingly to keep the mystery alive. Clever or no, he hadn't even suspected, and she'd had to struggle not to burst out laughing while he fell all over himself trying to puzzle it out.

"I AM SHER-LOCKED" had been a joke between herself and Kate, referring to his utter inability to admit that he was as gay as the day is long. As a bonus, his darling doctor was just as Sher-locked as the detective was. It was just too perfect. Sherlock Holmes was locking himself up in some incredibly elaborate denial, and it was _hilarious_. She'd never seen anyone so out of touch with their own sexuality, and she'd had several memorable late-night visits to a convent or two, so that really was saying something.

It had been too funny to pass up, but she'd never dreamed he'd actually GUESS such the silly thing, arrogant bugger though he was.

It galled her immensely that her own game had turned on her this way, but Irene Adler did not admit defeat easily. There was only one way out of this for now, and that was to pretend as she had never pretended before to be helplessly in love with him, even if only to win pity points and time to work out an escape.

_In love with Sherlock Holmes_. She repressed the urge to roll her eyes, and focused on making them tear up instead. Oh he was a very enjoyable plaything, certainly. Clever, persistent, amusing. She had to admit he'd put up an admirable fight. But romantically interesting? _Please_. There were several anatomical problems that stood in the way of her being genuinely interested in Sherlock Holmes. She could seduce nearly anyone to get what she wanted, and regularly did so, but he no longer had anything worthwhile to offer her. On top of that, she simply wasn't interested in nurse-maiding his sexual issues any longer. For god's sake, the man would probably need her to dress up like a stuffy, boring old military doctor and limp about being grumpy, just to get him aroused. It was pitiful.

So she cried, as much a part of her act as out of genuine frustration. They believed her and she let them. _Men._ Stupid creatures when you got right down to it...

* * *

This time it was Kate who picked up Irene, in a nondescript old jeep that blended into the desert sand. Irene had literally leaped into the back as it drove past and they'd vanished into the darkness as fast as the wheezing old thing would travel, while Sherlock Holmes cleaned up after her escape.

Kate had somehow found or stolen enough provisions to hide them for a while. Fake Identification papers, new identities, food, water, new clothing. It was all there. They would go deep into the desert, to an abandoned military base that barely anyone knew still existed and lie low until no one was looking for Irene Adler anymore. Until she was just a name assigned to a random headless corpse in a morgue, a forgotten headline. Then she would start over as she'd done so many times before, and build herself right back up to the lap of luxury, where she belonged.

* * *

Irene slithered out of her dusty, tattered black niqab and threw it into the small fire they'd built, pouring a canteen of water over her hair to rinse the away what she could of the persistent sand that seemed to permeate everything. She put a few official finishing touches on their passports by firelight and they slept.

After a week had passed, both women dressed in bright blue colorful burqas, their faces completely hidden by mesh screens. In a few days, it would be safe to travel. They would drive until they reached a city, the more crowded the better, and hide in plain sight. She'd been pleased with Kate's forsight when selecting their clothing. If they dressed too plainly, it would be obvious they wanted to blend in. Anyone looking for her would be looking for someone keeping to the shadows, someone who seemed secretive. Act as though you have nothing to hide, and no one will question you.

Once she was certain it was safe, they would fly to South America. She knew several areas where one could live comfortably and pay to be ignored. Irene had not had occasion to make enemies in the region, so there was no immediate danger waiting there. It was as good a place as any to rebuild until she could walk back into London with her head held high. Once she had sensitive information in her possession again, she would have protection again. And her enemies would be back to groveling furiously at her feet, where they belonged.

She'd start small; businessmen and small-time politicians. With a stable of underlings, she'd get back to bigger prey; minor royals, heiresses, government agencies. And then, when she had an army of allies, willing or otherwise; then she'd see to Mycroft Holmes. He had caused her a great deal of trouble, and he fancied himself the winner of their little confrontation. He would regret interfering with her. Oh yes indeed.

Mycroft Holmes had brought his little brother sniffing around her territory. He'd brought down her empire, and with it, everything she'd worked so hard for. She would have to punish him, and if there was one thing she excelled at, it was punishment. Mycroft Holmes was a dead man.


End file.
